She listens: two doves in their temple
of cage—like the child, newly named,
who has yet a child’s palms and toes,
a child’s mouth to discover them—two
doves purr soft eulogy of separation
and slow return, though she still clings
white and wavering as to the hilt
of a heavy sword. The doves tuck up
their empty wings, feathers stilled
and not yet flecked with blood.